


come out with your hands up (and your heart on your sleeve)

by Rokutagrl



Category: Ookiku Furikabutte | Big Windup!
Genre: Friendship, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 13:10:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17447600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rokutagrl/pseuds/Rokutagrl
Summary: During a game of Humans vs. Zombies, Abe and Mihashi reunite.





	come out with your hands up (and your heart on your sleeve)

They're waiting for him; canvased by darkness, camouflaging themselves from his eyes, but he knows that they're out there sharpening their claws, licking their lips.   
  
He is, after all, one of the last. But he has no plans to go down.   
  
Abe cocks his gun as soon as the side door comes into view. His bag thumps against his side but he doesn't mind it, pulls it in tighter so it won't get in his way.    
  
He'll have to run.   
  
Abe touches the metal rail of the door and takes in a steadying breath. Still ready in his hands, he hides his weapon behind his back and thinks to himself,  _ Runner on Third _ .    
  
It is absurd how much comfort the phrase still brings him, closing in on his twenties and no longer a child easily cozened by silly psychological tricks. But it still works to ease his nerves, and without further hesitation Abe finally pushes against the door. It gives in easily to his touch.    
  
Too easily.    
  
He thinks they both shout. Abe falters, unable to keep himself from plunging forward until he’s practically tasting the sweater of the person rushing into him. It’s enough of a miracle, he thinks, that he’s able to stay upright under the others weight pushing him back with a heated urgency and soon they’re both inside of the threshold of safety.

Abe’s eyes instinctively scan his assailant, searching, hoping— and it’s  _ there.  _ An orange bandana, wrapped tightly over the swell of their navy blue sweatshirt.    
  
Abe breathes out in relief.    
  
Safe. He's still safe. Thank  _ god _ .    
  
Abe removes his hands from the stranger's shoulder hurriedly, realizing as the adrenaline quiets in his blood that he'd been holding them at arm's length. He looks up, apology on the tip of his tongue, and then the words slip back down his throat.    
  
"Abe?" Mihashi says, just as startled sounding as the one being called. Abe stares, commands the vision of his former teammate to be willed away with reason and clarity, but Mihashi continues to stand there, a nervous smile pulling up along his face. Time has sharpened the curve of his jaw, kept his height competitive with Abe's, but he is still undeniably the same Mihashi. He snuffles, "Abe!" And then throws himself into his arms with wet laughter. Something heavy thumps against Abe’s back and crinkles noisily whenever it taps him.   
  
Abe barely has the sense to pat his back.    
  
Behind Mihashi, the giant door shuts itself, and they both startle. Ghastly faces peer in through the rectangular windows, leering and disappointed; their prey lost to them. 

They must be lurking everywhere, Abe thinks, dismayed.    
  
He turns his attention back to the blond who slowly releases his clutch on Abe's midsection, but his hand remains fastened to his jacket sleeves, like he's frightened Abe is the illusion.    
  
"I can't believe," Mihashi starts, "I can't believe you're  _ here! _ "    
  
Abe blinks. His eyes follow back down to the displayed bandana on his forearm and then directs his sight on to the proud declaration of his school's name and mascot on Mihashi's hoodie.  "I can't believe  _ you're _ here," he throws back, furrowing his brow. He sheaths his weapon back into his school bag, careful not to ruffle or ruin any of his notes inside. "Didn't you go off to college halfway across Japan?"   
  
Mihashi nods profusely. Abe can feel the others fingers digging into his arms. The vinyl sleeves make an obnoxious noise where Mihashi's nails scratch, but Abe waits for him to calm. Years with Mihashi had taught him many things, but Abe is grateful that he's been able to retain most of his patience from high school.    
  
"I didn't... I didn't like it there," he mumbles finally. "So I, I transferred." Mihashi let's go of his coat finally and adjusts his eyes down to the floor, no longer able to keep eye contact. He points a finger at Abe's own forearm immediately after, chirping excitedly, “You’re human!”   
  
Abe smiles at him, pride beaming in his chest. "Last I checked the website," he says, teetering his weight to rest on his good leg, "there wasn't many of us left." He peers out the window over Mihashi's shoulder again and grimaces. "Which means there's way more of them than there is of us."    
  
"Just, just have to survive the weekend," Mihashi says. "I, uhm, I ran out of previsions, though,"  he mumbles, holding up a convenience store bag. Abe notices it now, recognizes the static noise in his ear whenever Mihashi fidgets with the plastic. "Figured if I, uh, didn't have to leave my dorm room for meals I could make it. But I ran out of—uh am-ammo on the way back and kind of rushed...in here."    
  
His lashes flutter when he looks back up at Abe, imploringly.     
  
"I had a late lecture," Abe tells him.

Mihashi nods at his answer. He takes a step to Abe's side, regarding the window with a weariness that feels palpable. In their small viewfinder of the world, everything is quiet, serene. _Quiet_ and ink black and when Abe catches his eye, he knows they're both thinking the same thing.   
  
Peace is unnerving when survival is on the line.    
  
"There should be a back exit," Abe says, motioning Mihashi to follow him with a gesture of his shoulder. 

There’s no necessity on the inside to keep their presence hidden, but Abe can hear the care in every step they take, creeping down the hallways to their destination. Regardless of their concern, every footfall seems to squeak just an octave too high.  He leads Mihashi down the far staircase and pushes through a double doorway, sighing in relief when it gives way. "It's through here," Abe tells him. Mihashi pauses just outside of the room, staring up at the plaque fastened to the wall there.   
  
"Sports medicine?" He asks. His eyes seem to sparkle even in the dim lighting.    
  
"Yeah. We have labs here, Tuesday and Friday."

  
"You're amazing!"   
  
Abe feels his cheeks heating under the attention. "We usually go out this way, but I had to meet with my professor after class and his office is on the third floor, so..." He trails off, ushering Mihashi to follow him along into the room. They dodge around the silhouettes of furniture in the dark, the only lighting for them to navigate by coming from their salvation: slivers of moonbeams and flood lights leaking in through barred windows and a single door at the far wall. Abe only bumps his hip once on the pointed edge of one of the tables when he takes a turn too sharply.  He reaches their destination first. Winter seems to billow around the doorway, a cold chill lingering just around its edges. He pulls on a pair of gloves from his coat pocket and pushes his nose up against the glass. There's a few concrete steps they'll have to hurry up, but their passage looks clear otherwise. "Once the door shuts, that's it," he relays to Mihashi. "It'll lock automatically."   
  
Mihashi crowds the little window with him a second later, pushing so far into Abe's personal space that his hair tickles along his cheek. He chooses to say nothing but instead lean back, out of the way. Mihashi turns back to him with a long, toothless smile.    
  
"Are the, uhm, sports dorms close enough to run to?" His breath brings a light fog to life on the windowpane.    
  
Abe swallows, and the sound seems to reverberate in the stillness of the room.    
  
"They—" Mihashi’s eyes dart about the room, never seeming to settle on anything for very long, but never coming close enough to make eye contact. It’s one of the nervous habit that used to unnerve Abe back in high school. He hates to think that it might still. "They—they have those, right? Abe?"   
  
Abe sucks in a breath through his nose. His exhale sounds gruffer than he wishes it would, but Mihashi doesn't seem to notice. 

"They have sports dorms," he says finally. "The baseball one's are a little off campus, so not too far."    
  
"Oh. Good." Mihashi exhales. He fumbles through his shopping bag and produces a plastic bag of medium-sized marshmallows, distracting himself by trying to open it. The bag never seems to give under his fingers and watching him struggle only agitates Abe further. "I'll be living there next semester with you, I think, when, uh, when tryouts are over." He mumbles, "If they'll have...me.”   
  
“I'm sure they will," Abe says. He holds up one of his hands and gestures for Mihashi to hand him the bag. Mihashi still won’t look him in the eyes but he obediently plops it into his hand. Abe tugs at the plastic, groaning with the strain of his pull, but the it remains stubbornly fastened together. He takes a breath in and adds, “But I don’t live in them.”   
  
Mihashi stutters. "Where do you live?"    
  
"Takahashi House."

After a few more tries, Abe gives up on this method and instead takes to grabbing one edge with his teeth. He almost drops the contents on the floor when it rips open, easily.

  
"That's on the other side!" Mihashi squawks. Abe nods and he holds the bag up to return. Mihashi takes it, and their eyes meet finally. The quiet panic in his stare makes Abe feel oddly guilty. "Does Abe—do you not play...?"    
  
The question sits between them. This time it is Abe who looks away.    
  
"Oh..." Mihashi swallows. "My dorm...it’s not too far." He pauses and adds, unnecessarily Abe thinks, "From here."    
  
Abe shifts the weight of his school bag to his left side.    
  
"So if Abe wanted to," Mihashi averts his gaze for a second, eyes sharply watching the distance for movement. Abe remembers too well, being on the receiving end of that stare, can almost hear the slap of leather on leather, deafening cheers. When he licks at his lips, he can almost taste clay on the very tip of his tongue. He is startled by the contrast when Mihashi’s stare softens when he returns his gaze back to Abe. "Come stay there. Until it quiets down."    
  
Abe lets out the breath he hadn't realized was caught in his throat.    
  
"Ok." He inhales and the edges of his lips lift up. His smile must be infectious, because Mihashi returns it fervently. "Let's do that."   
  
Abe leans on the metal bar of their exit. Under his weight it creaks and groans. Just a short push invites the winter in, their every breath visible in the air now. They huddle in close; weapons ready. Abe takes only a moment to look at Mihashi, and that is enough, the glint in his eyes bright and alive and they both shout, "Runner on third!" 

And then like a shot from the barrel of Abe's Nerf gun, they take off across the mall, dodging swiping hands, shooting a flurry of orange darts and marshmallow puffs that never seem to miss their targets.   
  
Abe thinks it is the first breath he takes since they took the chance, with his back against Mihashi's door. They're both heaving—Mihashi hacks for a second. Abe's hands feel too much like jelly from exertion and adrenaline to even lift a finger to help him through it. His own lungs feel sore, leaden down by the cold night air.    
  
"Dude," Abe says, still fighting to breathe. "I think I missed you."   
  
"I miss-missed Abe," Mihashi stutters in reply. 

  
They look at each other then and laugh.   
  
His cheeks burn from far more than running, his lips cracked and angry from smiling wider than they're used to. Abe thinks, a spicule to his chest, that maybe the last time he'd laughed this hard, this genuinely, was before he’d said goodbye to his teammates—his friends—back in Saitama.   
  
Against him, Mihashi is warm, their arms flush against each other. When feeling returns to his limbs, Abe reaches the short distance between them to cup Mihashi's hand in his own. "For relaxation," he tells him and revels in the relief that floods through his system immediately, calms the stuttering of his heartbeat to a quiet tempo.   
  
Mihashi _beams_.  
  
Abe can feel the other’s palm warming under his touch, the outside chill and nerves seeming to recede. Alarmingly, Abe feels as if he could cry, a little prickle of tears he's willing to blame on the lingering cold forming in the corner of his eyes. Mihashi squeezes his hand.  
  
"I definitely missed you," Abe decides, slumping down against Mihashi's shoulder and letting out a long sigh. Mihashi stiffens for only a moment and then seems to melt back against him.   
  
"My roommate's out for the weekend," Mihashi says quietly in the thick of Abe’s hair. "So if Abe...if you want to stay and wait it out... I have plenty of ramen." Mihashi picks up the bag in his free hand, as if to prove the weight of his statement with it. "We'll win for the, um, human side."  
  
Abe almost feels like reprimanding him, to remind him that instant food isn't healthy, but he bites it down.   
  
"Alright," he says instead. "Sounds good. Winning, I mean." He adds, "like old times."  
  
Mihashi practically chirps in delight.

* * *

 

  
"You get along with your roommate?" Abe had asked him in the dorm bathroom, spitting out borrowed mouthwash in lieu of his own toothbrush.    
  
"Yeah!" Mihashi had sounded excited, the sentiment bouncing back into Abe's ears from the tiles, falling and reverberating in his chest.    
  
He’d been exhausted for the whole exchange, barely able to keep his eyes open and leaning heavily over the sink, but even hours past the time they had said their final good nights, sleep does not find Abe. He wonders if it's the new environment, if the faint glow of outside lights from the closed blinds is too much, or if it is how tightly the pajamas Abe borrowed from Mihashi cling to the swell of his hips. The foreign mattress under his back is really no different from his own standard one back in his dorm, but he feels out of sorts wrapped up tightly in a stranger’s comforter. 

But more than that, Abe feels restless. With his eyes closed his mind supplies their final battle in vivid detail and it is enough to set off a burn in his legs to run. His finger twitches at his side, pulling at an invisible trigger.  

  
He huffs.    
  
"Abe can't sleep either?" Mihashi whispers. It's hesitant, so low he could almost mistake it as the hum of a passing campus guard's vehicle, or one of the students lingering at one of the outdoor benches.

  
When he turns his head, Abe can see Mihashi looking back at him.   
  
"No," Abe tells him, his own voice barely a croak. Eyes open now, he can see the soft light of dawn reaching around the blinds. Strips of it lean over Mihashi's bed, and where it touches his eyes makes Abe think of a sleeping forest, stirring slowly under the first morning rays. "I think… I think I've been scared."   
  
"Of... the zombies?" Mihashi asks. "They're just classmates—"    
  
“No," he says. "I think I've been afraid of playing baseball again." The stutter in his voice seems to echo in his heart and Abe swallows it down to the pit of his stomach. Mihashi stays quiet and so he continues, "Momo-kan taught us more than just throwing and catching, you know? Even now, I take tests and think, 'runner on third' and it doesn't  _ mean _ anything in a classroom, but it helps. And sometimes I close my eyes and I imagine the bases and I pretend that I’m back there. I imagine someone’s holding my hand and it's like—it's like magic.”

For the second time in a long time, Abe feels like crying. 

“I’m afraid baseball won’t feel like that again. Not without Momo-kan, or you, or Sakaeguchi, or Hanai…” He grimaces when his breath in sounds like a sniffle. “I don’t want to lose that.” 

  
Exhaustion still pins him to the mattress, but Abe watches Mihashi until the sun burns along the edges of his hair, until Mihashi pulls back his own blankets and pads across the plush rug between them, his comforter and pillow dragging behind him. He doesn’t stop until he is at the side of Abe’s bed. The fabric in his hand drops unceremoniously to the ground and Mihashi follows, wrapping himself around it in a tight burrito. Abe can see his satisfied smile even in the dark, craning his neck to look down as Mihashi fumbles to grab his pillow.    
  
"What—!"   
  
Mihashi's holds up his hand, wiggling his fingers. Abe stares.    
  
Oh.   
  
Abe reaches back, clasps Mihashi's proffered hand in his own. It is as rough as Abe remembers, age-old calluses lingering tirelessly among new ones, and he thinks of fields of green and clouds of dirt; can see a tuft of blond atop a pitcher's mound, steady and immovable.  The sigh from his lips is absolutely unconscious.    
  
"I'll be with Abe," Mihashi breathes. "I'll be there," he pushes in a falsetto that belies the bravery in his words. "We'll win. We'll win against the zombies, and then we'll win games." Abe watches a line of sun chase Mihashi along the carpet, stretching the expanse of his cheek. His eyes blink up at Abe, sleepily. "But you know I—" his eyes drift shut, a small yawn at the tip of his tongue cutting him off this time. Mihashi adjusts their hands minutely, and squeezes Abe’s as if to comfort him, to remind him he's still there. "I always thought Abe was magical."  His breathing evens out shortly thereafter, grip still tight, a soft smile spread across his face.

Abe breathes in, thinks of nothing but the hand of the boy holding his, and it isn't too long this time before the rest of the world ceases to exist.   
  
The next sunrise brings them victory.   


**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Oofuri Xmas Secret Santa 2018! Repost from tumblr!


End file.
